A Dress for Monday
Wear the green dress today
in the back of the closet.
The floor-length polyester blend
with little bicycles
peddling all over it.
Your kindergarteners
love to count the bicycles
as much as I do.
One, two, three, four
five, six, seven, eight,
(and turn around for more)
nine, ten, eleven, twelve
little bicycles.
I woke up early
to press the wrinkles out,
thinking of your freckled arms
fitting through the sleeves,
and the way you wiggle into it.
The dress still holds
the smell of citrus
perfume from before.
You sashay when you wear
long dresses on workdays.
I witness the subtle difference,
and the way you saunter,
and all your variations
color my life.
I enjoy, more than all,
the emerald fabric on you,
it has a suggestive rustle.
The heavy layers
over your toned, determined legs
is lovely to gaze at
when you strut through the kitchen.
And somewhere sleeping,
the sun in her pale and trying beauty,
has yet to drag itself
in lesser shades across the sky.
Choosing a dress for you
from your closet of forgotten colors
is still the life I want, and better
than anything outside.
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